


(in)significant

by santeriagreen



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: But Derry still sucked, F/M, Flashbacks, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, M/M, Multi, No Pennywise AU, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22596922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santeriagreen/pseuds/santeriagreen
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak, infamous smear columnist for one of New York’s hottest drama magazines, is down on his luck. After a nasty divorce from his wife of five years and nearly losing his job over a lawsuit, he needs a miracle. When he’s assigned to write an article about washed up stand up comedian, Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier, Eddie’s certain he’s digging his own grave. That is, unless, Richie can give him something to talk about.orRichie and Eddie reunite and save each other’s careers in the process.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Connor Bowers
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	(in)significant

**Author's Note:**

> I know this isn’t perfect, but I have been sitting on this since Christmas. If you like it, please let me know! I have more written, I’m just testing the waters.

The grayness of William R. Dennis’s office is something Eddie Kaspbrak takes into account every time he ends up here. The walls are a dark gray, all of his furniture is made of glass or a dull gray metal, and even the pencils in the organizer on Will’s desk are gray.

Will, however, is anything but gray. With his satin red dress shirts, Gucci loafers, and meticulously shaved facial hair, he looks like a super villain from a bad bank heist movie. Eddie swivels from side to side in the office chair, examining his boss’s new golden earrings and botox treatments that he’d gotten over the small winter break they’d had off. It also looks as if Will had gotten a tan as well. 

Will dramatically signs through his tight, botox lips as he brings a bottle of whiskey out from the mini fridge behind his desk. “Do you know  _ why _ you're here, Eddie K?” 

Eddie raises his dark brows, “I’m finally getting a raise?” 

Will lets out a loud  _ HA! _ as he puts the bottle of whiskey back into the fridge. He spins around, and begins to click on something on his laptop. He turns it around so Eddie can see. “Edward, Edward, Edward…” 

The screen shows what seems to be legal documents or a court order, showing the words  _ Melinda Matthews v. Spunk! Magazine _ . Eddie scratches at the hair on the back of his neck. 

Eddie had been the one to write a piece on Melinda Matthews, who was last season’s victor on  _ The Bachelor _ . Eddie hadn’t ripped her to shreds completely, he’d well… Maybe he’d interviewed two of her ex boyfriends over the phone and  _ maybe  _ they had called her a gold digger and a cheat, but those were Tony and Frank’s words, not his. Eddie had been so inspired by Frank and Tony that he’d only used about a quarter of the original interview with Melinda in the article. Oops. 

“Melinda was under the impression that the article was supposed to be a puff piece,” Will says, grabbing at the bridge of his nose. “something to elevate her status.” 

“I elevated her status, alright,” Eddie laughs. “I don’t see why she’s complaining, I got her about three hundred thousand more Instagram followers.” 

“Eddie, I’m being serious,” Will snaps. “This is our fourth lawsuit in five years, I can’t keep covering for my writers like this anymore. I need you to try to be more positive and more optimistic with your writing from now on.” 

Eddie groans, “Of course. I’m sorry, Will. I know I get carried away sometimes but this was unacceptable. With the-“ 

“I know, I know,” Will rolls his eyes, as he files down his perfectly manicured nails. “your divorce with Myra and you losing the house and your Escalade has put a tremendous amount of stress on you. I’ve heard this every week for the past year, Eddie.” 

Eddie opens his mouth to defend himself, but can’t. There’s nothing left to say and nothing else to excuse him, he  _ has  _ been letting his personal life and emotions affect his work. How can he not? He’s a writer for Christ’s sake. 

“-but, you are very, very talented, Eddie,” Will says, reaching across the table to pat the arm that Eddie has leaning on the edge of his desk. “I just think you need to work on yourself. I also think you need to be interviewing different  _ kinds  _ of celebrities, not just reality TV stars who are looking to break into the mainstream media.” 

“I interview tons of non-reality TV stars,” Eddie scoffs. 

“You got to interview Jack Black one time, Eddie. Oh, and guess what? You made him look like a jackass!” 

Eddie’s face heats up at the memory of Jack Black’s agent yelling at him through the phone. “It’s not my fault he was tired from doing  _ Kung-Fu Panda II _ promo.” 

“Mr. Dennis? You have a conference call in five minutes.” An intern says, peeking her head into the office. She gives Eddie a sympathetic smile and a wave. She probably already knew what was going to happen when she wrote  **10:45 a.m.- Fire Senior Writer Edward Kaspbrak** on Will’s schedule that morning. 

“Thank you, Penelope darling. Could you get me an espresso, while you’re at it? I need an energy kick if I’m going to be speaking with Paramount Pictures,” Will calls after her. 

“Are we done here?” Eddie asks, grabbing his jacket and messenger bag from the other office chair.

“No,” Will says. “Eddie, look, what I’m trying to say is-“

Will takes a long, meaningful last sip of his whiskey, before pushing the glass away to the corner of his desk. “You need to learn your lesson. I’m done covering for your ass, this is your last chance. Now, I’m going to give you a new assignment, nevermind Survivor-winner, Derek Howard. Say hello to-“ 

Will unrolls a small promo poster from behind his desk. The poster features a tall, lanky man in a suit jacket that was a little too short for him holding a microphone on a stage. The words “ **_Richie Tozier: The Comeback Tour_ ** ” are stretched out across the bottom, with various tour dates scribbled underneath. 

“Richie Tozier? That washed up comedian who was really popular like, six years ago?” Eddie groans. “Didn’t he lose popularity because he voice acted in that shitty Dreamworks animated movie and everyone hated it?” 

“I don’t understand the negativity, Eddie,” Will scoffs. “Well, maybe I do. That movie DID suck...but, I’m doing Steve, Richie’s manager, a huge favor, here. Richie’s new tour isn’t selling as well as his previous tours have. I want you to write something genuine but positive about Richie and his show. I’m sure you can find something.” 

“Fine,” Eddie groans. “So, am I going to go watch his show, or…?”

Will points to the New York date, which is two weeks from now. “Richie is going to be here on the 25th, so, I’m sending you to his show. You’ll get there early, interview him backstage, and then watch the show and you’ll be done. That’s all, Eddie. No digging, no prodding, and definitely no stalking his ex-girlfriends on Facebook. If you can’t deliver something positive and uplifting about Richie Tozier, Eddie, I’m going to have to let you go.” 

Eddie wants to argue, wants to say “ _ I found her ex-boyfriends through Twitter, thank you very much _ .” but he knows better than that. Will has always been blunt and honest with him, even when Eddie doesn’t want someone to be blunt and honest with him. All he can say is: “Okay, Will. I can do that.” 

“Good,” his boss says. “I want you to take off until you interview Rich, Eddie. You obviously need some time for self reflection. Just promise me you’ll go to a fucking yoga studio or a therapist or  _ something. _ I love you, Eddie K, but you need to work on yourself.” 

Eddie nods, picking up his jacket. “Thanks, I uh… I guess I really needed this.” 

Will waves him off, and as he’s leaving he can hear the shrill screams of, “ **PENELOPE?! WHERE’S MY ESPRESSO?!”** and “ **PENELOPE! I CAN’T GET THIS CONFERENCE CALL TO WORK!”** and Eddie stifles a laugh with his jacket. He looks around as he walks down the aisle of cubicles towards the lobby entrance, and all of his coworkers try to avoid eye contact with him.  _ Great. _

**——**

Richie Tozier had forgotten what sleeping in a spacious king sized bed felt like. He’d been on his “comeback” tour for two months now and he’d been sleeping in a bed made for a golden retriever. Although, a dog bed was probably way more comfortable than whatever “mattress” Richie was sleeping on. 

His tour bus, which didn’t even have his face or name on it anywhere, was clunky and had only broken down a total of twenty-five times in the span of two months. However, when tickets aren’t selling, it’s the best thing you can get. Steve insists that he’s going to figure out a way to sell more tickets for the  _ next  _ time Richie goes on tour. Richie is surprised that Steve thinks there’s going to  _ be _ a next time. 

The crowds these days were tougher than what Richie was dealing with ten years ago. He’d never gotten stuff thrown at him or drinks spilled on him in 2009, but in 2019, it’s a weekly occurrence at this point. In fact, just last week, Richie had gotten a 7-Eleven Big Gulp that was full of Big Red and tobacco spit thrown at him on stage. Thankfully, whoever threw it missed but Steve insisted on Richie cutting the show short, which just upset the crowd more.

It’s not as if Steve doesn’t already know what people are saying about Richie online. Richie’s comedy specials used to be critically acclaimed and streamed millions of times, but now, critics hate his material and barely anybody is watching anymore. His shows are barely selling any tickets and half of the people that show up are just there to heckle them, anyways. 

Richie would face defeat and quit altogether if he knew that people really didn’t think he was funny, but that’s not the case. Richie knows he can make people laugh, he does it all the time online and when he’s talking one on one to people. It’s his dated, sexist material that’s written by a sixty year old man who lives in Connecticut that’s driving crowds away. He is nothing like the material he is supposed to perform on stage.

He used to write his own material. In fact, when he was working at a radio station in Chicago, he would stay up all night trying to write funny jokes or bits that would be good for the air. By the time he’d left his job at CTB, he’d had four spiral notebooks full of jokes. Sometimes, Richie would try so hard to recall funny memories from his childhood. However, no matter how hard he tried to remember his younger years, he drew blanks. 

Richie loved it at CTB, and it was pretty obvious that everyone loved him there as well. Six months in, the head exec of the radio station demanded that his nephew, Connor, be given a hosting position. While it did piss Richie off that Connor Bowers was just  _ given _ the position, he couldn’t stay mad for long. 

Connor was beautiful. Golden curls framed his face and his blue-green eyes sparkled anytime he laughed. And boy, did Richie love to make Connor Bowers laugh.

The listeners grew to love the banter between Richie and Connor so much that the execs gave them an official show in the morning at peak commuting time instead of late at night.  _ Rich and Con in the Morning  _ was Chicago’s most popular radio show for nearly eleven months. 

Somewhere in those eleven months, Richie had found himself spending more and more time with Connor outside of work. It started off as getting breakfast together at the little diner around the corner after their shift was over. Then, it grew to going to house parties together and eventually, playing video games together into the wee hours of the morning. Richie couldn’t remember a time where he’d been this close to someone. 

Well, maybe he did. He couldn’t remember much from his childhood, but he only remembers feeling like this once before. He only remembers dark brown hair and freckles, but Connor’s curls and dimples will do just fine. 

Liking a boy once doesn’t make him gay, right? It could just be a phase. When Connor gets drunk one night and leans into Richie a little too much on the train ride home, Richie knows it’s not just a phase. When Richie looks up from his notebook while they’re getting stuff set up for the show and realizes that Connor’s been looking at him, he knows he’s not crazy.

Connor likes him back.

Or, at least that’s what he wants to think for awhile. Around month four of working together, Connor finally kisses him after one too many beers and eight rounds of Street Fighter. They fall asleep on Richie’s futon and wake up tangled together. Richie doesn’t speak of the kiss and neither does Connor. 

The week after that, however, Connor does it again. and again. It gets to the point where they’ll be on air and Richie can’t help but want to lean over and kiss Connor right there, on air, but he knows better than that. Richie knows that in 1997, that shit will never fly. 

Richie thinks they are strictly prohibited to his stuffy studio apartment until Connor kisses him in the break room one day. He’s taken aback and stumbles over his words when they go on air. Connor rides the train home with him and he sits right next to Richie, even though it’s half empty. 

It’s not until month nine that Richie starts to think things are too good to be true. Connor brings harder booze to his apartment one night and he gets drunk. Richie had a migraine, so he was staying away from harder liquor. 

“I  _ want _ my own sh-show someday,” Connor slurs next to him, sinking further into the futon. 

“Is that so?”

“Y-Yeah. Sorry b...bro. Gotta get it one...one way or another,” Connor laughs. Richie doesn’t know what’s so funny. “I do think you’re...funny, though. S-Sometimes.” 

Richie keeps his guard up for a few days and asks for some space, to Connor’s surprise. They go back to normal after Connor shows up to Richie’s place unannounced one evening and they go all the way for the first time. As Connor sleeps soundly next to him, however, Richie can’t help but think of his drunken words over and over again.

_ One way or another.  _

So, Richie can’t say he’s surprised when the break room door swings open one day while they’re kissing and it’s none other than Connor’s uncle standing there. He sees Richie sitting just a little too close to Connor and sees the red flush of his face. He’s smart enough to piece together what had just been going on.

The show goes on as normal, except for the death glare that the exec gives him for the whole show. Connor does the traffic report and weather without breaking a sweat, while Richie stumbles over talking about what movies are showing in local theatres.

When the show’s over, the exec clears his throat. “Connor, _ Tozier, _ I need to speak to both of you in my office.” 

Mr. Bowers’s office is huge and lofty, which is a huge contrast to the cramped, dark studios they’re forced to DJ in. Richie has only been here once, and that was when he was being promoted from being an intern to a host. 

“You both know why I’ve called you in here,” Mr. Bowers says, flatly. 

He lights a cigarette and lets it burn for a few seconds while the room stands still. Richie doesn’t dare look over at Connor. 

Bowers puts the cigarette into his mouth and finally takes a drag. “How long, Tozier?” 

“Hm?”

“How long have you been  _ harassing _ my nephew?” 

Richie feels the room crumbling in on him. He tries to defend himself, tries to insist that  _ he kissed me first, _ but nothing comes out. 

“It’s been going on the whole time, uncle Dean.” 

_ One way or another.  _

Richie is escorted from the building by security, he doesn’t even have time to grab him stuff from his desk. Connor watches on, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face. 

“Sorry, Rich.”

  
  


The next few months were a blur for Richie. He’d dated a few more women, this time, he’d gotten past second base but was never able to remember what happened anyways. He’d nearly drink himself to death every night and would find himself surprised when he woke up the next morning. When he got fired from another internship at another radio station because of an accidental F-Bomb on air, Richie decided he had nothing to live for.

He’d climbed in his bathtub and broke one of the razors he used to shave his face with, but before he could touch his skin, he froze. He looked down at his hands, and saw the giant, 

raised white scar that stretched across one of his palms.  _ When did this happen? When did he get a random scar on his palm?  _

Suddenly, the memory of a wide open field comes back to him.  _ There are seven of us.  _ Seven kids in a field, one of them has the biggest, brownest eyes that Richie has ever seen and a cast on his left arm. One of them has hair the color of flames and one of them has a stutter. Another one of them has curly hair and a big smile, while another one of them is smart and going to move mountains one day. The seventh one has dimpled cheeks and eyes that light up when you talk to him. They are all on the outside of his brain, and he can just barely reach them. 

Richie throws the razor out of the tub and suddenly he can’t do it anymore. Maybe he has a reason to keep going. Maybe he has a purpose. All he can think about is how the boy with the pretty eyes and how this mystery boy would never hurt him. If only he could remember his name. Richie gets out of the tub, dries himself off, and buys himself a plane ticket to LA with the last of his savings. 

He was on top of the world for awhile. When he got to LA, he got another radio internship. Thankfully, he was far enough away from his past mistakes that no one knew who he was. No one was friends with manipulative bigshot, Connor Bowers and no one knew about how Richie had described a movie as, “fucking awesome,” on air one time. He was successful.

His boss at the radio station, Reggie, was the one to suggest stand up. Richie had seen plenty of stand up in his time, from watching it on TV to going to amateur night at  _ The Gigglehut _ . However, it never occurred to him that maybe someday, he could do stand up. Sure, Richie loved to perform in any way he could, but was he funny enough?

When he’d get home from work, he’d sit at his desk and write jokes. It was fun. Richie had always been a pretty good comedy writer and he was already good at embellishing his stories for radio, anyways. Finally, one particularly boring Tuesday night after work, he finally gets up the courage to sign up for amateur night. 

When his name is called and he climbs up on stage, all of his nerves slip away. He goes into the routine he’s been practicing for weeks and the crowd loves it. When he jumps off stage, people are still clapping and there’s that roaring applause in his ears again. A woman with light brown hair and brown eyes comes up to him while he’s at the bar. He takes her home and doesn’t remember what happens from there. 

Him and Sandy are happy together for months on end, they don’t do much when it comes to intimacy but Richie is okay with that and Sandy seems alright with it too. Richie’s content with this, with Sandy and stand up comedy. She tells him her dreams of being a politician in Washington, D.C. and he tells her to go for it.

One night, after one too many beers, Sandy bursts into tears and Richie doesn’t know what to do. She’s inconsolable and distant and he tries to comfort her, but she just continues to sob on his living room couch. 

“Sandy,” Richie soothes. “Please, sweetie, just tell me what’s wron-“ 

“I’m...not happy, Richie,” Sandy says through her tears. “You’re a nice enough guy and I saw you that night and thought,  _ maybe I can fake it, maybe I can just fake loving him forever,  _ but… I cant do that.”

Richie knows in his heart that this should be the moment where his heart shatters into a billion pieces but it doesn’t. The world doesn’t stop around him. 

“Richie...I’m a lesbian.” 

and Richie, for some reason, breathes a sigh of relief. It’s like a ton of bricks off of his chest. “Sandy, I…” 

“-I understand if you’re upset,” Sandy mumbles. “I know I led you on, I know-“ 

“Sandy, I think I’m gay.”

Sandy looks up at him and starts to giggle, but when Richie doesn’t start laughing she stops. “Wait, are you serious?” 

“...I don’t know. I love you, but…” Richie groans, putting his head into his hands.

“...not like that?”

“...no, not like that.” 

Sandy rubs his back and Richie ends up being the one crying on her shoulder. Sandy stays for another month or so but she decides to finally make the move to D.C.. Richie gives her his home phone number and asks her to keep in touch and she promises to do so, but never does. 

Richie is somewhat thankful for Sandy leaving, because after that, his career skyrockets. One lucky night, he meets Steve at  _ The Gigglehut _ , and aside from Richie drunkenly flirting with him, Steve can see Richie’s raw talent, and Steve promises that he can make him a star. Before long, Comedy Central gives Richie one special to test the waters. 

Audiences say it’s the best comedy special they’ve seen in years. He gets three more specials ordered by Comedy Central and Richie loses so much sleep writing them. He does a few Rom-Coms and hosts SNL two times. He becomes good friends with Conan O’Brien and Jimmy Fallon and he’s happy. 

_ “Do you have a significant other?”  _

_ “So, Rich, since we’re friends, you got anyone special you’d like to talk about?” _

_ “Any girlfriends, Richie?”  _

and Richie doesn’t have anyone. Aside from the usual hookup with a random guy from a bar or the internet, no. He hasn’t found anyone. The internet has forums full of guesses about who Richie’s dating, some say Kristen Wiig, others guess his PA, Serena. Other than the occasional comment here and there, there’s not a whole lot of buzz that Richie is gay.

A few guys have claimed on forums that they saw Richie in a gay bar once, but most of the comments are things like: 

**No way.**

**I don’t believe you.**

**Pics or it didn’t happen!**

and Richie can’t help but smile at those. It’s his best kept secret, until it’s not. 

One of his hookups takes to twitter. He posts a selfie of himself sitting up in bed and in the background, you can see Richie sleeping soundly beside him. The hookup made sure to add hashtags such as #RichieTozierIsGay, #RichieTozier and #TrashmouthExposed.

Richie is thinking about coming out, about just saying it out in the open, but Comedy Central threatens to pull out. Steve tries to negotiate but when the Comedy Central exec asks Richie to speak for himself, his heart rate picks up and he can’t breathe. Serena brings him a glass of water and he still can’t get ahold of himself. Richie gets up out of his chair and knocks over a few potted plants on his way out. All he can do is sit on the curb and cry into his palms, while Serena tries to comfort him but also block his face from view of anyone with a camera phone. 

Steve delivers the bad news: Richie has a ghostwriter now. He is Comedy Central’s puppet and he has to do everything they say. No more hookups, no more meltdowns, and no more denying that he has a girlfriend. He’s introduced to a woman named Meg and she’s pretty cool but she’s snotty and has an attitude. She’s his  _ beard _ , Steve tells him. 

Meg is nice but they don’t live together or even talk. She goes to events as arm candy and then pockets her money at the end of the night. She doesn’t really care for Richie and thinks he’s a slob, but Richie just reminds himself that this is only temporary. 

Comedy Central asks Richie to propose to Meg, to marry her, and that’s when Richie loses it. 

“No!” he screams at the executive. “I’m already your fucking puppet, but that’s too far.” 

Comedy Central drops him then and there. Richie stays in his apartment for a month and Meg calls him almost everyday, asking for a  _ severance check  _ and Richie laughs and hangs up every time she does. 

Everyone on twitter was convinced that the photo was a publicity stunt after the guy was sued and forced to take it down. After everyone finds out that Richie was dropped from Comedy Central, people start to suspect he’s doing hard drugs or has checked into rehab. 

Steve is the one to finally pull him out of his apartment and Richie has to admit, the sunlight felt good on his skin. They go to a meeting with Netflix, and they agree to give Richie another special. The numbers from the special weren’t great and Steve insisted on getting Richie a new ghostwriter, but this one was older and even more out of touch with the world today. 

So, now Richie’s stuck with an unmarked tour bus and a toddler bed. Thankfully,  _ The Comeback Tour _ only has a half-dozen dates left before it’s picked apart by Twitter critics and teenagers with no lives and then it’ll be laid to rest and only be rediscovered when it auto-plays after John Mulaney’s new specials.

-

In his two week work intermission, Eddie finds himself trying new things. Usually Eddie’s days are like clockwork and offer little thought to him. However, Eddie finds himself thinking,  _ why am I waking up at seven a.m. to go jogging when I don’t even have to go into work?  _

Eddie’s always been an early riser. When he lived with Myra, she would often sleep in until ten or eleven and then slump around in her pajamas all day if she didn’t have to do anything. Eddie would wake up at seven, take a quick, rinse-off shower to wake up his pores, like his dermatologist said, and then go for his morning jog. If it was raining, he’d do yoga or some stretches out on their balcony. 

Now, he doesn’t even have a balcony. The small, cramped apartment that he shares with his friend Bill only has a rat infested fire escape. Eddie knows that the rats probably wouldn’t appreciate him rolling out his yoga mat next to their nests. 

While Eddie has grown to love the rush of New York City, he can’t help but miss a time where he could ride his bike down gravel roads and lay out in the grass, even if his mother told him not to. While Eddie doesn’t remember much from his childhood, except for Bill, he remembers the summer sun beating down on his neck and back and the Quarry. Everything past that is foggy. 

Eddie doesn’t do much swimming, nowadays. There’s not much swimming to do in New York, except for trying to get through giant swarms of people in the God forsaken subway system. Eddie finds himself trying to reflect on his childhood in his new free time, but can’t except for small glimpses of Bill’s childhood bike, Silver and Mr. Keene’s flaky skin. 

When he hits day six of his P.T.O., Eddie decides that he might as well stop wasting time on the past and do some research about his “subject.” He uses Bill’s Netflix account and finds one of Richie’s first comedy specials, entitled “ _ Good Morning and Goodnight.”  _

Bill, who just so happened to get off of work early that afternoon, walked in right before Eddie could even hit play. “What are you d-doing, Eddie?” 

“Research, Bill. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Bill scoffs as he hangs up his coat and scarf, “It looks like my Netflix recommended is going to be full of mediocre comedy specials from middle aged white men from now on.” 

“Hey,” Eddie says, pushing play on the special. “We don’t even know if he’s mediocre yet, Billy boy. We haven’t given him a chance.” 

“G-God, Eds. W-When did you become so p...p...positive? Y-You literally tore Kim Kardashian to shreds over a comment she made on pancakes,” Bill plops down on the couch next to Eddie and puts his feet up on their coffee table. 

“Will wants me to try and be more positive. That Melinda Matthews lady is trying to sue  _ Spunk! _ for what-“ 

Bill shushes Eddie as a jazzy intro song starts. The words,  **“Comedy Central presents… Richie Tozier: Good Morning and Goodnight.”** A younger version of the man Eddie had seen on the poster in Will’s office walks onto the stage. His hair is long and untamed and hangs around his face. He has large, coke-bottle like glasses that magnify his eyes. He’s tall, lanky, and somewhat awkward as he stands with the microphone in his hand. 

_ “How’s everyone doing tonight?”  _

He sounds somewhat familiar, but Eddie can’t place it. There’s so much about Richie Tozier that’s familiar to Eddie but he can’t put a finger on it. The way he stands, his crooked smile, and his unsuccessful attempts at charm are distant to Eddie, like he can just barely grasp at something. 

The jokes aren’t bad. It’s Richie’s first special, which was in 2005, so some of the jokes about celebrities and flip phones are outdated. However, Richie seems comfortable up on stage and the crowd seems to love him. A woman even screams, “ _ I love you!”  _ at one point and Richie says it back to her. 

About halfway into the special, Bill turns to him. “H-He looks really familiar.” 

“I know! He might just have one of those faces, I guess. I’ve been trying to think of where I know him from… maybe he’s been in a movie I’ve seen.” 

Bill nods and turns his attention back to the screen. Eddie has to admit, Richie is attractive… for a stand up comedian. Most comedians that Eddie has seen are balding and have a very pronounced beer gut. Richie is gangly and is wearing a t-shirt that has the ninja turtles on it that looks to be at least two sizes too big. Eddie huffs as Richie sets up a joke about loose women who like to shop at Dollar General. Eddie doesn’t think the joke is very funny, however, Bill lets out a loud, goose-like laugh. 

Then again, Bill’s always had a  _ shit _ sense of humor. 

___

Two days and seven Richie Tozier specials later, Eddie has somehow consumed almost all content that Richie has been in. From the mediocre rom-coms,  _ Say It Ain’t So  _ and  _ Three’s a Crowd _ , to the god-awful Dreamworks movie,  _ Turtle Doves _ , Eddie feels as if he knows Richie already. Even though he’s pretty much used to being around celebrities all the time at work, Richie is different.

Richie doesn’t act like a celebrity. He doesn’t brag about his Rolex watches and fancy cars in his special like other comedians who made it big. He doesn’t talk about hanging with Jessica Alba and Ryan Reynolds. He’s real. He’s upfront. Well, at least in his first four specials. 

When Eddie hits Richie’s fifth comedy special, entitled  _ Dark Water _ , he finds himself cringing. Eddie even gets on his laptop to look up reviews of the special and finds that most people agree that it’s nothing like Richie’s older stuff. 

_ It’s like a car wreck you can’t look away from,  _ one famous reviewer, Tommy Sykes, wrote. 

There are one too many jokes about vaginas in this special, and Eddie actually has to hit the pause button and take a mental break from Richie’s constant “my  _ girlfriend, my girlfriend, _ ” spiel. 

Eddie, technically, never  _ had  _ a girlfriend. Yes, he had Myra. However, both his mother and Myra hated the word  _ girlfriend _ and said it sounded scandalous. So, throughout their entire  _ courtship  _ (that word is even worse than girlfriend, in Eddie’s opinion) Eddie was forced to refer to Myra as his significant other. It always made him cringe. 

Richie even joked about calling someone your “significant other” in his third comedy special,  _ Malicious Intent.  _ Maybe Eddie had laughed. Maybe. 

_ “I’ve been hooking up with this girl for some time now. She finally asked for me to ‘make it official’, so I did. I broke up with her. She got mad and said we were supposed to become ‘significant others’, and I told her, yeah, I think it’s significant that I want to see others.”  _

Eddie can’t help but think Richie has tons of women who are constantly chasing after him. Or at least, he should. He’s annoyingly charming and his crooked teeth and messy hair are enough to make any girl fall head over heels in love with him. Maybe he’s a little funny and maybe, just maybe, this interview could save both of their careers. 

__ 

When Steve breaks the news to Richie that he’ll be interviewed by  _ Spunk! _ magazine at his New York tour date, he laughs. Not only at the name of the magazine, but the idea that a media outlet still gives a shit about him. Richie hasn’t done interviews since  _ Turtle Doves _ came out and he swore that after he showed Barbara Walters his bad Christopher Walken impression, he was exiled from mainstream media outlets for good. 

“Richie,” Steve warns. “You absolutely, positively  _ cannot _ fuck this up. This could be your last chance.” 

Richie rolls his eyes but let’s Steve’s words sink in.  _ What would Richie even do without stand up and without a following?  _ Radio was a dying art form. Richie didn’t finish college, and he hadn’t had a real job outside of radio since the 90s. He was probably going to have to become a stripper or a barista. Both involved whipped cream and sadness. 

“-are you even listening to me anymore?” 

Richie blinks and suddenly both Steve and Serena are standing in front of him. These ‘blackouts’ Richie’s been having are becoming more and more frequent. Serena’s looks into Richie’s eyes with concern. She dabs at his sweaty forehead with a damp washcloth. He can’t help but think that he doesn’t deserve her. 

Serena is clean cut, organized, and she has a great personality. When Steve first introduced Richie to Serena, he was sure she’d run the second she saw how much disarray his life was in, but she didn’t. She organized his whole apartment in one weekend. She color coded all of Richie’s files and went through his pantry. She even tried to set him up with a personal stylist and trainer but abandoned those plans the second he tried them. 

Steve grabs at the bridge of his nose, his pit stains visible through his gray dress shirt. “You’re on in five, Rich.” 

Richie gets up and out of his chair and Serena tries to follow him. He goes to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Without knocking, Steve bursts in to tell Richie’s he’s got less than three minutes left. 

Richie dries his face and attempts to adjust his hair in the mirror. He  _ always  _ starts to feel self conscious when he’s about to go on stage. Have his pores always been that big? When did he get those wrinkles around his eyes? Since when has he had that scar on his forehead?

_ All he can remember is something hard flying and clocking him in the skull at full speed and the evil eyes of three boys on the other side of the pond.  _

He splashes water on his face once more. Did that even happen? His childhood was always so foggy and he had trouble deciphering between what was real and what was fake. He traces the scar once more. 

_ “Richie!”  _ Steve’s shrill voice calls through the door. “ _ 90 seconds, man. Let’s get a move on.”  _

Serena is rushing beside him with a cup of water and dabbing at Richie’s forehead with a damp rag. When they get to the side of the stage, he lets Serena and Steve adjust his appearance for him before he steps out onto the stage. 

the voice above him rings out, “ _ Ladies and Gentlemen, Richie Tozier!”  _

—

Eddie has always been jittery when it comes to meeting celebrities for the first time, but he would never admit it. Before he got to meet Gordon Ramsay, he paced around his office for an hour and a half and couldn’t stop adjusting what questions he was going to ask. Will had been the one to ground him and make him sit in his office chair, which he did for all of ten seconds before getting back up again. 

So, it makes sense as to why Eddie is nervous about interviewing Richie Tozier. Richie, even if he is considered a B-Lister, still has some devoted fans who will pick apart every part of this interview for weeks. Eddie just  _ knows _ he has to get every aspect of this interview right or else it could be his last.

The Uber driver swerves slightly to avoid hitting a biker who was  _ taking up too much of the god damn road, thank you very much, _ and Eddie has to bite his tongue to avoid becoming a backseat driver. Eddie losing his car was one of the worst things about the divorce. His Escalade had been his own sanctuary away from Myra—that is— until he’d found out that she’d put a tracking device on it. When Myra asked for it in the divorce, even though she hadn’t driven herself anywhere in four years, Eddie was willing to give it up, because the car no longer represented his freedom.

The Uber driver grunts and Eddie snaps back to reality. The Redfin Theatre sits in front of him, with the words:  **Tonight Only!: Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier** stretched across the front sign. He sighs, smoothing out his sport coat and dress shirt as he hops out of the Uber. He thanks the driver and stops to stare up at the name just one more time.  _ Tozier. Tozier.  _

Eddie  _ still _ can’t figure out where this asshole is from. He’s looked at Richie’s  _ entire _ acting resume and he still can’t find anything that Eddie would know him from. Eddie even watched an old SVU episode that Richie was in and that only made Eddie’s confusion worse. To make things even more foggy, Bill also seems to remember Richie. Huh.

_ Trashmouth. Tozier. Richard Tozier. _

The names don’t seem  _ familiar _ at the surface. It’s kinda like when you recognize a smell, but you don’t remember where it’s from. It wafts into your nose and suddenly you’re back in a different time. It’s like  _ eating play dough in kindergarten. _

wait a minute.  _ Kindergarten. _

Eddie remembers clutching onto his mother’s stomach so tightly as she walked him into the room. This is the first time he’d be away from his mom for more than an hour or so and he wasn’t prepared to say goodbye. His teacher, he couldn’t recall her actual name, was a younger woman with long blonde hair and light eyes. She’d rubbed Eddie’s back and coaxed him into the room. 

“It’s okay, Edward. I promise you, the day will go by so quickly and you’ll make tons of new friends today!” his teacher said, so sweetly. 

Eddie had looked up at his mom, who looked as if she  _ didn’t  _ want Eddie to go but he gave her one last squeeze and waved goodbye. He watched as his mother stood wordlessly in the doorway but he eventually turned around to face the other kids. Other kids… he’d never gotten to play with other kids before. 

“hey!” 

Eddie turns around, trying to find the source of the voice.

“h-h-hey, you!” 

_ Bill. _ Eddie remembers Bill from his childhood. In fact, Bill  _ is _ one of the only things that Eddie remembers from his childhood. Through his research after his divorce from Myra, Eddie discovered that “ _ prolonged periods of trauma or mental abuse from a parent or guardian can result in children or adolescents having little to no recollection of their past or events that happened while they endured mental or emotional abuse.” _

Eddie remembers wondering why Bill had a stutter. He’d wanted to ask but he knew his mother was still in the doorway of his classroom and he knew that if she saw him speaking to other kids, he’d be homeschooled. Eventually, his mother moved from the doorway and the teacher shut the door. 

“Are you gonna come sit with us?” a kid with a squeaky voice and large glasses asked. 

Eddie moved cautiously towards the table and moved his chair out. He swung his legs above the floor and played with his thumbs, nervously. The other three kids at the table were all marvelling over a toy car in the center of the table. When Billy notices that Eddie is not looking at the toy car, but instead, down at his shoes, he scoots his chair next to him.

“H-Hey,” Bill says, splaying a shaky smile onto his face. “d-did you not go to P-Pre-K? I-I’ve never seen you ‘round before. What was your name? E-Edward?” 

Eddie swallows. “...I didn’t go to Pre-K. My mommy wouldn’t let me...said she didn’t want me to get sick. M’ names Eddie, not Edward, by the way.” 

“What if I  _ wanna _ call you Edward?” pipes the boy with glasses. 

“Well,” Bill says so confidently, ignoring the other boy. “I’m Bill. This is—“

_ “Hey, asshat! You always just stand in the middle of the sidewalk like that? MOVE!”  _

Eddie blinks. He’s no longer in his Kindergarten classroom but instead in front of the Redfin theatre. Pedestrians and tourists alike push past him as he stands there idle on the sidewalk.  _ Oh, yeah.  _ Eddie takes a final deep breath before moving towards the doors of the theatre. 

There’s barely anyone in the lobby aside from the janitor and a few staff members. A few middle-aged men and their wives are leaning against the walls. Eddie obviously stands out among them, as he’s wearing a sports coat and slacks while they’re all in jeans and ironic t-shirts. Eddie does spot a frantic-looking, short man in a suit and Eddie assumes he must be Richie’s manager, so he waves him down. 

“...Can I help you?” The manager runs a sweaty palm through his own gelled hair. 

“I’m Eddie Kaspbrak, I’m here to interview Richie?” 

The manager’s eyes go wide and he checks his watch. He forces a smile and motions for Eddie to follow him. As they make their way backstage, Eddie notices that there’s really little to no commotion back here. There are no stagehands frantically testing microphones or lighting crewing people making last minute adjustments. In fact, from the looks of it, Richie doesn’t even have a dressing room. 

“Richie?” his manager calls out. 

There’s nothing but old props and broken light fixtures backstage. With no sign of Richie anywhere, Steve begins to fuss. However, behind a fake brick wall, Eddie spots him. 

“Rich..?”

It’s almost as if time stops completely. Eddie would never admit that, though. He’s crouched down but he looks so much more striking in person. He seems taller and his shoulders seem broader. When Richie notices that Eddie is staring at him, he brings a finger to his lips and mouths, “ _ shhhhh.”  _

_ his stupid teeth are even cuter and more crooked in person.  _

Steve begins to pace around backstage and he sometimes gets close to the brick wall, but never close enough. He half-looks for Richie but mainly wipes the sweat from his shiny forehead. At one point, Steve stalls right in front of the brick wall, and Eddie has to actually stifle a laugh. 

“Richie, this isn’t funny,” Steve yells. “You and I both know we have—“

“BOO!” 

It’s a cheap shot. Eddie’s mad that it made him laugh, although it’ll probably be a good ice-breaker for the interview. Steve starts to go in on Richie about  _ they don’t have time for messing around _ and  _ he’s gonna he sleeping in the luggage compartment tonight.  _

“Oh, shut up, Steve,” Richie groans. “You love me.” 

Richie throws one of his long arms around Steve’s shoulders and Steve shrugs him off. He scowls at Richie, only until he realizes that Eddie is still standing in the room. Steve plasters on the same fake, calm smile that he had on earlier. Eddie has noticed, however, that Richie has been looking at him pretty much since the second he walked in. 

“Richie, This is… “ Steve extends an arm out towards Eddie.

“...Eddie. I’m here to interview you for  _ Spunk!  _ magazine.” 

Richie throws his head back and laughs at the name of the magazine, “That’s today? Steve, you didn’t tell—“ 

Steve groan and rubs at his sweaty temples, “I know, I know. I forgot to write it on the schedule. Just don’t fuck this up…please.” 

Richie raises his right hand to his brow and salutes Steve. Steve rolls his eyes and pulls two chairs from the jumbled mess of furniture. He sets them up so that they’re facing one another. Steve turns to return to the lobby area but points at Richie.

“Seriously, Rich,” Steve says, sternly. “Thin  _ fucking _ ice.” 

Richie shoves his hands into his pockets and mocks Steve’s voice as the door slams closed. Eddie awkwardly shifts from foot to foot.  _ Seriously? This is what I have to deal with? _

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” Richie sighs, looking at Eddie with that same  _ look _ again. “I’m Richie, you said your name was—“

“Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak.” 

Richie raises his eyebrows. “Eddie. What’s that short for, Edward? Eduardo? Edwin?” 

“Edward. Now, Richie, let’s go ahead and sit—“ 

“Do people call you Eddie Spaghetti? Eds? What about Spagheddie? Ooh! What about Edward Spaghedward? That one’s more formal, like if you were in a busine—“

“—OKAY! Enough!” Eddie cries out above Richie’s droning. “Jesus. Let’s just start the interview.”

Richie complies but not without some stubbornness. He sits down in one of the metal folding chairs that Steve had set up and folds his long arms against his chest. The leather jacket he’s wearing squeaks as he slumps down. 

“Anyways, Richie—“

Richie’s focus is on the ceiling, “Y’know, Eds—“

“That’s not my name, asshole.” 

“Anyways, Edward, I knew you’d be a feisty one. I saw how short you were and  _ instantly _ knew you’d be like this. Demanding. Bossy. It’s kinda cute, honestly. Like a chihuahua.” 

_ cute.  _ For some reason, Eddie’s mind catches on that part instead of Richie comparing him to a chihuahua. Eddie can feel all of the heat in his body rise to his face and Richie starts  _ cackling _ . His waves of hair bounce as he throws his head back. 

“So, Richie—“ Eddie groans, choosing to ignore Richie’s comment. “who’s your biggest inspiration?” 

Richie snorts. “What…like for comedy?” 

“...What else would I be asking about, asshole?” 

Richie raises his arms up, “Whoa there, Stallion. I was just making sure. I could have a greatest shower inspiration, or something. You don’t know my life.” 

“Exactly. That’s why I’m interviewing you!” Eddie sighs, exasperated. He hadn’t expected this interview to be a walk in the park, but he didn’t expect Richie to be like this. 

Richie’s face softens. “Look, I… I’m sorry, alright? I haven’t been interviewed since 2017, Eds. It’s been three years. I’m a little rusty on my interview charm.” 

Eddie meets Richie’s eyes again and he can’t help but smile back at this fucking forty year old man-child. “S-Sorry. I’m really used to interviewing like, reality TV stars that do interviews all the time.”

Richie laughs. “Well, I did just land a gig on Real Housewives, so I better get used to this.” 

“-oh! and my greatest comedy inspiration is Jim Carey. Next question.” 

—

Eddie is only able to successfully ask two more questions before Richie is escorted away and into the dressing room by a woman in a pencil skirt. Richie looks back at Eddie and mouths “ _ Sorry!”  _ right as the backstage door slams behind him. 

Eddie looks down at his laptop, only to see that he has two good quotes he could use from Richie. That means, he’ll really have to pay close attention to the show and make mental notes about quotes he liked. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to satisfy Will and the Richie Tozier twitter fan accounts. 

Right as Eddie jots down a few more notes about Richie’s demeanor, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He balances his laptop on one of the various stage props and slides his phone out of his khakis. Shit.  **Will Dennis.**

“Hello?” 

Eddie can hear the cap of a bottle being screwed off on the other line. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. My favorite senior writer! … Except for Lauren’s food reviews, of course.” 

“Gee, thanks Will,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “What’s up?” 

Will begins to laugh, but the laughs fade into a groan. “So, next month’s issue was supposed to be over Jennifer Aniston and her new movie. However, Lauren’s son had the  _ audacity _ to get meningitis the day she was supposed to fly out. MENINGITIS! ON! THE DAY! SHE WAS! SUPPOSED TO FLY OUT! EDDIE!” 

“That’s terrible!” Eddie sucks in a breath at the thought of someone contracting Meningitis in the twenty-first century. “Send Lauren my love—“

“—This is not about Lauren’s sick son, Eddie! Jennifer Aniston would’ve been the first major celebrity we’ve had on our cover in months!” 

Eddie frowns. “Will, are you suggesting—“

Will laughs. “Oh, Edward. Sweetie… no. You aren’t interviewing Jennifer. Listen, I love you, you little firecracker, but…” 

“Why did you even call me, then?” 

The line goes silent for a minute. Eddie can tell there is something that Will has to tell him but he doesn’t want to. Will always did this to him. 

“...don’t hate me, okay?” 

Eddie rubs at his eyes and stands up from his metal folding chair. “Shoot.” 

“I understand that this was supposed to just be a short and sweet blurb about Richie and his mediocre comedy, but…” 

“I’m making it the cover piece.” 

Eddie nearly chokes. There was no way in  _ hell _ that an interview he got two quotes out of and a forty minute comedy show are going to be able to fill up an entire cover piece. “Will, there’s no way—“ 

“Oh, when there’s a Will Dennis, there’s a way, Eddie. I understand that you probably didn’t get much from that fifteen minute interview you just had with Richie.” 

“—how do you know…?” 

Will chuckles before crunching noisily into the phone. “I’ve been in close contact with Steve. Since I’m doing such a  _ huge _ charity for Richie and his career, Steve agreed to let me send you with them for the remainder of Richie’s tour.” 

“WHAT?!” Eddie screams so loudly, he’s pretty sure people in the lobby heard him. The woman in the pencil skirt even peeks her head out from Richie’s dressing room to check on him. 

“Eddie,” Will says, his voice low. “You know I don’t like surprising people like this. However, if anyone can pull this out of their ass, it’s you. If you can pull this off, Eddie… you’ll have your job secured and a raise.” 

Eddie sits back down in the metal chair and slaps a hand over his face. He’d never, in his nearly fifteen years of working at  _ Spunk! _ , had a cover story. Will had never really trusted in Eddie when it came to writing something positive, but now might be his chance to escape his negative persona. He also can’t help but think of his tiny apartment and the rat-infested fire escape. 

Before even really thinking it over, the words “I’ll do it,” escape Eddie’s mouth before he can even process what he’s agreeing to.

“Great!” Will cheers. “You might need to run home after tonight’s show and pack a bag!” 

Will says his goodbyes and Eddie still has the phone to his ear even after he’s ended the call. His “little” project with a mediocre man child comedian, who, Eddie will admit, is kinda cute, just became a cover story. Huh. 

Eddie sends a  **_call me, asap._ ** text to Bill. Right as he puts his phone back into his pocket, he hears a door swing open, and he sees a flash of light running towards him. It isn’t until he’s off the ground and almost having an asthma attack that he realizes that Richie has scooped him up bridal style—barely— and is trying to swing him around. 

“Eddie Spaghetti! we’re gonna be road buddies!” 

What had he gotten himself into?

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
